Bitch Flicks – Page 50 – The radical notion that women like good movies

‘Mockingjay – Part One’: On YA Dystopias, Trauma, and the Smokescreen of the “Serious Movie”

Though we get a sense of District Thirteen’s manipulations in the novel, Katniss savvily negotiates with them, resists their orders, and remains distrustful of their motivations, in contrast to her comparatively slight unease in the film. While these changes leave most of the major plot elements intact, they undermine our sense of Katniss as an intelligent political actor who is connected to and moved by the revolution itself, rather than just her personal stake in the events.

This guest post by Charlotte Orzel appears as part of our theme week on Dystopias.

Mockingjay: Part One, the latest instalment of the massively popular Hunger Games series, begins with a terrified Katniss Everdeen huddled in a corner, muttering frantically to herself in a tearful fit, before being dragged off and sedated. Even for a series whose subject matter is children killing each other for sport, from its opening moments the film presents itself as noticeably darker than its predecessors. Director Francis Lawrence paints a grim portrait as the film explores the consequences wrought by the earlier events of the series, touching on torture, the large-scale destruction of warfare, violent suppression of insurrection, the mechanics of war propaganda, and the trauma the series’ violence has inflicted on its characters. But Mockingjay’s dark trappings mask the way the film foregrounds Katniss’ desperate romantic plight at the expense of both other aspects of her character and coherent dystopian critique. In doing so, Lawrence spins the illusion of a gritty, realistic criticism of war and propaganda headed by an independent, emotionally complex female character without truly providing the substance of either.

In Mockingjay, Katniss is at the centre of a political maelstrom, being urged by District Thirteen, the military leaders of the rebellion, to help create the propaganda material it needs to incite a revolution against the totalitarian Capitol. Katniss is suffering from PTSD and distraught about the capture of Peeta Mellark, her partner and love interest from two previous rounds in the Hunger Games. But when Peeta is forced to broadcast his demands for a ceasefire by the Capitol, Katniss concedes to take on the role of the revolution’s figurehead to ensure his immunity should the rebels win. Desperate to protect him from harm, Katniss must negotiate both District Thirteen’s subtle machinations and the violent retaliation of President Snow as she becomes entangled in the representational politics of a national war.

This is a significant departure from the way these events play out in the source material. In the first half of the novel, Katniss makes several decisions that within Lawrence’s film, are influenced or made for her by the rebel government and her handlers. For instance, the novel opens on Katniss having chosen to return to return to her firebombed home district against the wishes of President Coin’s strategy team. What she witnesses there causes her to react passionately against Peeta’s coerced call for a ceasefire and willingly adopt the role of Mockingjay. She does this not to ensure Peeta’s immunity, but to do what she can to strike back against the President Snow’s regime after the violent Capitol oppression she has witnessed and experienced. After witnessing a strike on the hospital in District Eight, it is Katniss who actively seeks out the cameras to make a speech to inflame the districts against President Snow’s regime. In the film, these events are reframed as ideas conceived by the rebels and their propaganda machine to maneuver Katniss into furthering their cause. Though we get a sense of District Thirteen’s manipulations in the novel, Katniss savvily negotiates with them, resists their orders, and remains distrustful of their motivations, in contrast to her comparatively slight unease in the film. While these changes leave most of the major plot elements intact, they undermine our sense of Katniss as an intelligent political actor who is connected to and moved by the revolution itself, rather than just her personal stake in the events.

But the most important difference from the novel is the absence of Katniss’ voice from Mockingjay. The novel, told in first-person, gives the reader a clear sense of Katniss’ desires and emotional state. Both verbally and cinematically, the film often fails to articulate her feelings about the proceedings, outside a sense of generalized trauma, vague unease about District Thirteen and her mounting concern for Peeta’s well-being. Part of this problem is the reduced role played by Gale Hawthorne, who is not only a love interest to Katniss, but her best friend since childhood. In earlier films and the novels especially, Gale’s function as a character is not only to create romantic conflict, but to also advocate for the necessity of the revolution and articulate the violence enacted by the Capitol, including how it extends beyond the Games to the oppression of the districts. By cutting down his role and changing the content of his conversations with Katniss into arguments about Peeta, Mockingjay squanders a valuable opportunity to allow Katniss to voice her perspective on the political environment she finds herself caught up in. It also seems to do so to up the romantic stakes at the expense of portraying a more nuanced relationship between these characters that includes but is not limited to romantic love. Without allowing Katniss to express her viewpoints on these broader issues, through her relationship with Gale or another character, the film feels directionless except in moments where Peeta’s safety is at risk.

Mockingjay appears to justify this shift in narrative purpose through Peeta’s capture itself. The choice to continuously orient Katniss’s decision-making around Peeta suggest that it is his capture that is the major source of her trauma, the trauma that pulls her attention continuously away from the political scene. As other reviewers have argued, it’s refreshing that Katniss is permitted to show emotionally vulnerability as the heroine of a major action film. But not only does much of Katniss’ trauma stem from issues unrelated to Peeta—growing up in the Capitol’s oppressive society where she lived on the edge of starvation; being subjected to violence and forced to perpetrate it within the Games; witnessing the violent repression of resistance to the regime; the destruction of her home district—these traumatic events are precisely the reasons she should be (and in the book, is) compelled to fight back against the Capitol. It would be remiss not to mention that these aspects of her history and the film’s political themes would have also have benefitted by portraying Katniss as a woman of colour, as she is strongly implied to be in the novels. In this volume of the series, doing so would have drawn our attention to the powerful social and psychological effects of racism, and the way its violences intertwine with capitalism. This choice would have also given more potent, layered meaning to Katniss’ newfound position as the “face of the revolution.” Ignoring these important elements of Katniss’ experience and the way they affect her decisions diminishes the particularity of her pain and the complexity of her character. And framing the progression of events in this way suggests that even if we do see more political action from Katniss in the next film, it will be incited by Peeta’s victimization by the Capitol and not her own experiences of oppression and violence.

To a certain degree, Katniss is also incapacitated by Peeta’s capture in the novel. The key difference, however, is that Katniss’ mounting fears about Peeta’s torture lead to a direct conflict between her personal and political goals: any action she takes to spur on the revolution will be met with physical harm to the boy she has grown to love. This internal struggle makes Katniss feel like a whole person with a range of concerns, but it also generates the kind of narrative momentum that drives effective stories.

Making Peeta’s capture and rescue Mockingjay‘s central concern also considerably deflates the film’s dystopian themes. Mockingjay purports to have something interesting to say about capital, war, propaganda, and trauma, but without Katniss’ perspective on these issues to anchor us, they lack both nuance and coherence. Lawrence draws parallels between the propaganda produced by District Thirteen and the spectacle of the Hunger Games, but while this gives us a broad sense that we should distrust President Coin and understand that war propaganda is bad, it fails to articulate this connection in a meaningful way. The film treats Katniss’ trauma as a cue that the film is dark and serious, while simultaneously using it as an excuse for avoiding a clear stance on its political issues. Unfortunately, these problems prefigure similar issues in the final half of Collins’ book that will likely make their way onscreen in the next film.

The problem with Katniss’ detachment from the political action becomes most acute in the last portion of the film, when the rebels launch a risky mission to rescue Peeta from the Capitol. In an effort to distract the Capitol forces, Katniss speaks directly to President Snow via video feed, telling him she never asked to be in the Games or become the Mockingjay, and that she only wanted to save her sister and Peeta. She begs him to release Peeta, offering to give up her role as figurehead and disappear. Then, conceding that he’s won, she pleads to let her exchange herself for Peeta. These statements seem like fundamental betrayals of the struggle Katniss has been growing into throughout the series, but film makes Katniss’ sincerity disturbingly unclear, especially in light of the ambiguity of her political stance earlier in the film. Is she just telling Snow what she believes he wants to hear, or is she truly so desperate to save Peeta that she will sacrifice the revolution itself for his safety?

No matter which is the case, Snow’s answer – “It’s the things we love most that destroy us.” – comes across as an interpretation of the outcome of Katniss’ efforts that, strangely, the film seems to validate. Pushed by Capitol torture into a distorted reality where Katniss is a dangerous enemy, the star-crossed lovers’ reunion results in an extended, disturbing sequence where Peeta wrestles Katniss to the ground, violently choking her. She escapes the encounter, and in a final sequence, watches him in a psychiatric ward, her reflection imposed over his thrashing body on the glass that separates them, as President Coin announces the successful outcome of the rescue at a political rally. This final, ghostly image of Katniss’ tortured face is a far cry from the expression of defiance that closed Catching Fire.

This sequence might have played differently had Katniss’ efforts to protect Peeta been only part of her focus in Mockingjay: Part One, or if this plot point had only been the midpoint of an adaptation of the entire novel. But as an ending, even to a film that promises a sequel, it seems bizarrely punitive and, frankly, horrifying. The film has spent two hours leading its audience alongside Katniss as she gives all her energy to Peeta’s rescue, only to tell both her and us that not only have her efforts been useless, but her loving sacrifices have only served to weaken her against her enemies. Of course, part of the rationale for this is to set up challenges for Katniss and Peeta to overcome in the next instalment. But the film should be able to offer a narrative experience that stands on its own and can thematically justify its existence, particularly if we’re meant to pay upwards of twelve dollars to see it. Obviously, we are not supposed to agree completely with President Snow, who is essentially the embodiment of pure evil in the film’s universe. But the story’s mixed messages offer us little alternative to conceding his victory.

The success of The Hunger Games’ franchise and its dystopian imitators such as the Divergent series or the CW’s The 100 seems to suggest that Hollywood is catching on to the idea that young audiences are willing to pay to see complex female leads and meatier social criticism. Mockingjay’s marketing implores us to embrace it as a gritty critique of oppression, propaganda, and war, and a feminist blockbuster led by a powerful teenage girl with more on her mind than romance (think about both propaganda-inspired posters and Jennifer Lawrence’s press tour pullquotes about how Katniss has too much on her plate to worry about who her boyfriend is). The problem with Mockingjay is not that either Katniss’ trauma or her love interest make her an uninteresting or weak female character. It’s that the film hypocritically champions its own success as female-driven, serious social critique, while in reality treating both these aspects with little depth or care.

As Mockingjay: Part Two looms on the horizon, we should remember that Hollywood’s willingness to deliver stories packaged to appeal to certain kinds of social consciousness does not mean filmmakers will engage beyond a surface level with the issues they use to sell their films. Teenage girls, as much as any audience, deserve complicated female characters, coherent and responsible social criticism, and well-crafted narratives in their media. As critical-minded viewers, we need to continue to demand and support substantive stories within and outside mainstream Hollywood and continue to identify those movies that only lay trendy glosses over empty promises.

Charlotte Orzel will take KA Applegate over Suzanne Collins any day of the week. Her interests include YA war stories, film exhibition, marriage dramas, and making fun of True Detective. She is a Master’s student in Media Studies at Concordia University in Montreal and tweets about life and film at @histoirienne.

‘Advantageous’: The Future is Now

“Are women really going backwards going forward?”

Jacqueline Kim co-wrote the screenplay for Advantageous and also stars as its lead, Gwen Koh. — Jacqueline Kim co-wrote the screenplay for *Advantageous* and also stars as its lead, Gwen Koh.

A version of this post by Leigh Kolb previously appeared at Bitch Media and appears now as part of our theme week on Dystopias. Cross-posted with permission.

“Are women really going backwards going forward?”

Advantageous, the new film by Jennifer Phang, paints a dystopia that shows a version of the future that is regressive for women. Perhaps one of the most poignant aspects of the film is that it barely seems futuristic at all; when daughter Jules asks her mother, Gwen, “Are women really going backwards going forward?” we can’t help but involuntarily nod our heads yes, bombarded with the realities of the fictional world in front of us.

In the film, Gwen Koh (played by the incredible Jacqueline Kim) is a single mother to Jules (who is played with remarkable talent by Samantha Kim). Gwen is a corporate spokesperson for the ominous Center for Advanced Health and Living. As she pitches their new technology, she says, “So many of us enter this world with disadvantages beyond our control.” The Center for Advanced Health and Living isn’t limited to face lifts and breast augmentation. Its slogan—”Be the you you were meant to be”—doesn’t merely mean an enhanced you. Instead, this vague empowering message means their technology is ostensibly meant to give you control over your physical disadvantages.

The film—which was awarded a special jury prize at Sundance and started streaming on Netflix June 23—features stunning cinematography, excellent acting, and beautiful writing (albeit sometimes heavy-handed, which I’d prefer to writing that does not attempt to say anything). Advantageous tackles a laundry list of feminist concerns. Gwen is told that she has aged out of her role as a spokesperson, especially considering the “new you” technology they want to sell. It’s noteworthy that the head of the corporation—and the one who seems to have made the decision about letting Gwen go—is a woman of a similar age. Ms. Cryer (Jennifer Ehle) pulls the strings, which shows that it’s not just male forces that destruct and construct the feminine ideal. The world in Advantageous is one that has been designed by women, too, but it’s still a capital of misogyny—radio broadcasts reference the rise in child prostitution, middle-aged women are homeless due to unemployment, and employers prefer to hire men lest they dangerously roam the street. Gwen’s single motherhood is a source of sharp judgment from her peers and her parents. Many of these examples aren’t futuristic at all (see here, here, and here) and Advantageous does a compelling job of showing how while we may advance technologically, we have a lot of social progress to make.

Samantha Kim plays Jules, whose mother faces hard choices about how to give her the best opportunities.

Advantageous is billed as a science fiction film, but it doesn’t feel sci-fi much of the time. Every once in a while, a drone or flying vehicle will jet past, the buildings will look futuristic, or the person on the other end of a phone conversation is a hologram. But for the most part, Advantageous is that kind of chilling dystopian science fiction that looks incredibly familiar. One scene that felt like it could have been any period in the past or present comes when daughter Jules asks Gwen, “Are women really going backwards going forward?” We can’t help but involuntarily nod our heads yes, bombarded with the realities of the fictional world in front of us.

As Gwen is let go from her job and has difficulty obtaining any new prospects (except for selling her eggs, since fertility rates have sharply declined due to pollutants—another not-so-futuristic plot point)–she asks, “Am I too old to be of use?” Again, we nod our heads, agreeing that in the world she lives in—a world that looks much like ours—the answer is yes. The Center also tells Gwen that they are looking for a more “universal look” to be their spokesperson. We assume that means “white” (and young), and director Phang addresses this in an interview with The L Magazine:

“In my mind the phrase ‘universal look’ wasn’t exactly a euphemism for ‘white’ (though it often goes that way), but for a non-specific, multi-racial look. … Jacqueline Kim is Korean-American. The subtext is that Gwen’s look was a benefit to the company for a moment, but that moment had passed.”

This “universal” look that Gwen is supposed to embody is an interesting end game of beauty standards: while beauty ideals may move toward a multicultural aesthetic, they’re still impossible to obtain without the winning genetic lottery ticket. We can hope that whiteness equaling “universal” will eventually change in the future as our population changes, however, Advantageous suggests that almost everyone will always be born at a physical disadvantage in a society that worships the unattainability of eternal youth and beauty.

It’s important to note that in Phang’s created world, “otherness” is highlighted mostly through age, gender, and beauty, and less about ethnicity. At The Verge, Emily Yoshida points out that “Advantageous also happens to have a mostly Asian cast without overtly being about Asianness, which makes it some kind of rare unicorn.” Phang critiques the desire to conform to a universal ideal while at the same time providing an excellent example of how storytellers and filmmakers don’t have to cast white actors for a story to be universal.

Gwen’s ethnicity isn’t what is most disadvantageous to her—it’s her age. How can a naturally aging woman convincingly sell a technology that promises to stop aging? The “ideal woman,” then, is seen as incredibly young and ethnically ambiguous.

Gwen must change so she can save her career and afford opportunities for her daughter. In the film, a woman’s sacrifice and a mother’s sacrifice are woven together to reveal that society continually sacrifices women—older women especially—at the altar of “never good enough.” While Phang beautifully addresses so many issues facing women in our society, she has highlighted her focus on women’s pressure to change. She says:

“One of the deeper concerns that I wrestle with in my work is how women around the world are encouraged to change themselves in many ways to carve out a place and survive. But it was also important to me to investigate, through Gwen, whether the act of choosing to change your surface appearance somehow altered your inner qualities. I wondered whether our self-respect might become altered for better or worse after we commit to a surface change. And does our respect for others increase or decrease if they don’t follow our example? And then… is this a world we can be at peace with? Can we accept a world in which these concerns occupy so much of our energies and potential for productivity?”

In Advantageous, Phang asks many questions, not only of the characters, but also of our own culture. Can we accept this world? Advantageous—and certainly feminists—would resoundingly answer “no.”

Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature, and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri.

Can a Dystopian Society Be Redeemed? Lessons from ‘Mad Max: Fury Road’

And, although The Citadel is ruled by powerful men with disabilities, we understand it to be a fundamentally ableist society. Immortan Joe is questing for a “perfect” son and has clearly chosen The Wives for their beautiful, unblemished, able bodies in an attempt to breed one. We understand that this is a patriarchy in its most extreme form where women have no personhood at all.

This guest post by Gabrielle Amato appears as part of our theme week on Dystopias.

Often, dystopia is about exposing where we’re going wrong and giving us a reason to course correct by showing us the worst case scenario of consequences. Human folly is a common undertone in dystopian fiction, especially sci-fi and horror, showing us an exaggerated form of the suffering we will have to endure if we cannot change. In Battle Royale, we see a world where the criminalization of youth has lead a society to fear its own children so much that middle-schoolers are forced to murder each other. In I Am Legend, a proud doctor informs the world that she has cured cancer using an engineered virus, but her hubris is our downfall. The virus kills 90 percent of the population and turns the other 10 percent into ravenous zombies. In Fahrenheit 451, rampant anti-intellectualism produces a world where books are illegal.

Mad Max: Fury Road is less about illustrating for us what consequences await if we don’t change our ways and more about what we must do once those consequences befall us. It’s about whether or not society can, as Furiosa hopes, be redeemed. Fury Road shows us a quick sketch of our situation: the world is a barren, wind-blasted desert; Immortan Joe controls the water and the people, using women to breed and feed an army of War Boys who maintain his grip on The Citadel by sacrificing their lives in battle. The driving plot of the movie is Furiosa and The Wives looking for a way out of this oppressive dystopia.

Although Fury Road does not show us how we arrived here, it does a very good job of identifying exactly who and what is wrong with society. Women are livestock, used for breeding and milking to maintain Immortan Joe’s army. With the exception of Furiosa and her honorable position as the driver of a massive war rig, the only place we see women in The Citadel is within Immortan Joe’s chambers, imprisoned there for his use. In the chase through the desert, The People Eater frequently refers to The Wives as “assets” to be protected.

The Wives have been specially chosen to breed a “perfect” son

When The Wives flee their chambers, they leave behind two explicit messages: “we are not things” and “our babies will not be warlords.” Immortan Joe’s patriarchy doesn’t only objectify and exploit women. Though only older boys are sent riding to war we see many War Pups, boys who haven’t reached puberty yet, some barely more than toddlers, in The Citadel.

Indoctrination starts early for boys in The Citadel

Though these War Pups are too small to drive and fight their faces are still painted like skulls, their little bodies pressed into the service of Immortan Joe. In The Citadel little boys do not enjoy a childhood. They have no experience and therefore no concept of compassion or kindness or human connection. The moment they are useful they are put to work and, more importantly, begin receiving the brainwashing that will eventually render them into fanatical War Boys willing to die at the whim of their leader. Women are livestock and boys are weapons.

It doesn’t matter how the world got this way, but it does matter who made it this way because those people are still in power. Who Killed The World? The implication is clear; it was the patriarchy. It was men like Immortan Joe, The People Eater, and The Bullet Farmer who even now continue the same destructive habits. Resources are tightly controlled by these men to satisfy their greed, and only doled out to others if it will serve the masters. Immortan Joe goes so far as to stage the ceremonial release of water down onto The Wretched just to display and revel in his own boundless power.

It’s a surprisingly explicit reference to the connection between power and abuse: Immortan Joe positions himself as a savior figure while at the same time turning the blame for the suffering of The Wretched back onto their own “addiction” to water. The systematic oppression of The Citadel is denied.

So what can Furiosa and The Wives do under these circumstances? Their first strategy is one most of us would choose. If the place where you live is terrible, you leave it behind. You try to find a new place, a green place. But escaping isn’t so easy. When Furiosa’s war rig breaks down and the fugitives realize that they are being pursued, Cheedo has a crisis of courage. She runs off across the sand toward the coming army, insisting, “We were his treasures. We were protected. He gave us a life of luxury, what’s wrong with that?” Cheedo has learned to survive as an object, and still believes that the best possible life she can hope for is one with the meager privileges of being chosen as the treasure of a powerful man. Although they are far from The Citadel, Cheedo has not left it yet. But it isn’t only Cheedo’s internalized oppression that conspires against these women. When Furiosa at last brings her companions to a place she remembers, the remaining Vuvalini they meet tell her that The Green Place is now barren. Even that piece of earth has gone sour like all the rest. Now there are only two choices left: keep running and hope to stumble across an oasis or return to the only place they know to be capable of sustaining human life.

They cannot escape this dystopia and find a utopia; the former must be refashioned into the latter. Mad Max: Fury Road shows such a remaking of the world is possible by first showing such a remaking of people. When Capable discovers Nux stowed away on the war rig she treats him like a person. She is kind to him and when she touches him she does so with tenderness. This is the first time that Nux has experienced human interaction that isn’t based in violence, as far as we can tell. Early in the film we see that his relationship with other War Boys is based on masculine posturing and competition. In a moment when he is vulnerable, lost, and humiliated Capable meets him with compassion and empathy, and we see how quickly it changes him. Having his humanity validated immediately turns Nux’s loyalties – he doesn’t want to be a thing anymore.

When Cheedo reaches for Rictus Erectus from the hood of the war rig we wonder if she has given up hope once and for all. But instead she uses her own fragility as a trick, and we understand that she has changed too.

Even Cheedo, so fearful that she wanted to turn back, has decided that it is better to risk everything for the chance to be a person than to return to being a treasure. She doesn’t want to be a thing anymore either. It is through the transformations in Cheedo and Nux that we see how Furiosa, the Vuvalini, and The Wives will transform the entire Citadel.

“Where must we go, we who wander this wasteland in search of our better selves?”

At first, The Wives leave with Furiosa because, as she tells Max, they are looking for hope. But Max knows that hope is a mistake; you have to fix what’s broken. It’s Furiosa’s desire for redemption the reveals the right path. The fact is, it is too late to avert disaster. We are already living in an oppressive patriarchy that treats women like breeding stock and men like weapons, and our environment has already been drastically altered by global warming. But there is no green place we can escape to. We cannot leave society and we cannot leave the planet; this is what we’ve got to work with. Further, even if we could run away to some hidden oasis to form our utopian feminist society, who would we leaving behind? Is it right to abandon the War Pups, the Milking Mothers, and The Wretched to save ourselves? Mad Max: Fury Road teaches us that the only way out of the dystopia is through it. You must choose to remake it, and yourself, into something better.

Gabrielle Amato received her BA in Liberal Arts from Sarah Lawrence College where she focused on women’s studies. Currently she works in violence prevention, and in her spare time attempts to write useful and interesting articles about feminism, pop culture, and rape culture.

Learn from the Future: ‘Battle Royale’

This guest post by Belle Artiquez appears as part of our theme week on Dystopias.

We have all seen dystopian futures represented in film and literature: desolate landscapes with survivors of some war-torn/zombie apocalypse struggling to live their bleak lives under the rule of brutal and selfish dictators who are only out for themselves. It’s a theme we are well-accustomed to, and there are numerous examples of different dystopian futures: zombie apocalypses are in full swing at the moment in TV and film (The Walking Dead, The Last Ship, World War Z), but then there is also the fall of religion (The Book of Eli), the loss of fertility (Children of Men), and the loss of resources such as water and oil (Mad Max).

The examples of how humanity could fall are in such abundance that when we get a film that doesn’t necessarily look that different to our own current world, it may not be the harsh dystopian world that we are so used to seeing on screen. Battle Royale (2000) is that film, and yet its reality is somewhat harsher than these other dystopian themes. Directed by Kinji Fukasaku, and adapted from a book of the same title, the apocalyptic film portrays a totalitarian government that rules Japan, where communication with the western world is forbidden, and every year one school class is chosen to be pitted against each other in the ultimate fight to the death as a way of controlling the young generations and reminding them that they cannot rebel, they cannot be free, and they will only ever be restrained by their government.

The actual Battle is set on a highly guarded, isolated island, and the chosen class (a ninth grade class) is brought to it and ordered to fight in a zero sum game of death in a highly publicized slaughter game where there will be only one winner. The children are given one weapon each ranging from sauce pans to rifles and survival gear with maps and other necessities as they navigate through the island, of which there are interchangeable “forbidden zones.” Around their necks, a collar with the power to instantly kill is fitted to make sure any student disobeying the rules or being in a death zone at the wrong time will be killed. It appears to all to be a completely unfair setup, but this is a harsh dystopian world, so what do we expect?

9th grade class photo, looking like students not murderers — Ninth grade class photo–all looking like students, not murderers.

Not only does the film portray existing anxieties for Japan, it also represents the severe landscape of our current era–the fact that people struggle to survive already, that some are unfairly given better opportunities regardless of value (portrayed through the weapons the students are given) and are almost set up for failure. The fact that a ninth grade class is always the chosen class depicts the hardship and suffering of actual ninth grade classes in Japan currently. Up until that grade, students need only be in attendance to proceed to the next grade, but suddenly at ninth grade they are faced with extremely difficult exams in order to get a placement in a more prestigious school, putting immense pressure on students who are suddenly pitted against each other for these few places. Apart from this obvious nod, the film also suggests that we are already currently set up for failure worldwide. Our banking system for instance is the biggest fraud of our time, where people are given loans of money that doesn’t actually exist only to have to work even harder to repay the non-existent money back with actual hard cash. We are told that we need to earn a living doing jobs that we hate, instead of living and doing what makes us happy. We are born into constant monitoring, not being able to move around the world without asking permission or being watched. Governments may not be totalitarian, authoritarian ones but they certainly act in similar ways under the guise of protectors. These are all aspects of what the students of Battle Royale have to cope with. They are watched not only by the controllers of the battle, but by the entire country, as if nothing more than a reality show.

The “Forbidden Zones” also illustrate the ways in which laws are put in place. We know that most laws are put into place for our benefit–murder, theft, and abuse are all illegal for the good of the people–so that we feel safe in our day-to-day lives. However, governments have been known to create laws for their own benefit, take for example the new law created in Australia that states it is illegal for detention centre workers to report child abuse, rape and human rights violations. Or the American law that states it is illegal to film and report animal abuse on farms, establishing severe criminal sanctions for those who would report the abuse as opposed to those causing the abuse. These laws are not in place to protect the people, they are conceived in order to protect the corporations in charge, the authorities. This use of law-making is of course related to the “Forbidden Zones,” which are set up so the game will run within the three day time limit, and also for the entertainment of viewers watching from the safety of their homes. The students have not only to fight and kill their classmates with whatever they were given but they also have to worry about where they go, at what times.

The leader and man in charge of the battle is also the representative of our current powers/governments/politicians. Kitano is the man who tells the students the rules of the game, as well as handing them their weapons and survival gear, and who likewise has no problem killing two students before stating it is actually against the rules for him to do so. By breaking the rules in such a nonchalant manner Kitano shows the class that they must obey a hypocritical generation in order to survive. He even goes as far as asking the students to be friends with him, establishing a false sense of security, the contrast between being friends with this man and then witnessing him kill two of them is stark and also conveys the same governmental control that most countries understand, the “We are here to help you” attitude while they only ever help themselves. Another facet of this dynamic relationship refers to the fact that the classmates are all friends with histories and memories together and now they must let go of all of that and slaughter each other. However, not all students have the ability to do this and end up committing suicide as a way out of this and also as an escape of the imminent betrayal they will face.

Kitano threatens a student, and shows the hypocritical nature of authority. — Kitano threatens a student and shows the hypocritical nature of authority.

And just as the film articulates these contrasting attitudes and dilemmas with regard to controlling powers and zero sum attitudes, so too does it address these issues within themes of gender, sexuality and authority. Battle Royale does stereotype its female and male characters to conform to society’s ideas of femininity and masculinity. Most of the women are rendered weak, helpless, and in need of protection. Where some girls need the help of their male friends to survive (Noriko, whose protection is passed on when her initial protector is killed), others cling to each other in the hopes that some sort of sisterhood will unite them and make them strong enough to survive, showing a kind of stupidity on their part since there can only be one winner. These united girls end up in anarchy as one of them eats a poisoned dinner meant for a male classmate and suddenly they are all slaughtering each other without even trying to overcome the misunderstanding. In total contrast to this we see male students working together in perfect harmony even with a few moments of misunderstandings as a few of them work together to get the death collars deactivated. The male characters do their best to protect the female students, but only the ones that have strong emotional relationships with the men.

Noriko hides behind male student for protection portraying the fragile nature of the class's female students — Noriko hides behind a male student for protection, portraying the fragile nature of the class’s female students.

The only strong female character also happens to be presented as the villain of the piece (as does the previous winner of the game who happens to be a young girl, although we only see her briefly at the beginning), and this is possibly because she is independent, sexual, and in control. Mitsuko is violent, she quickly becomes a killing machine in order to survive, and even uses her sexuality to do so. A loner in her class before the slaughter, a victim of sexual abuse and a murderer at a young age (in self defense against the man who was going to abuse her), she now just “doesn’t want to be the loser anymore” and uses everything at her disposal to win. This includes her obvious sexuality, which she uses in ways similar to a Venus fly trap. A good deceiver, she entices a two male classmates and while they feel at ease, happy to be getting any sexual action, she kills them. Now who’s at fault for this? The girl who was just playing the brutal game like all the other students in order to survive, or the boys who stupidly thought that sex was worth the risk? Yet Mitsuko is the villain, which may actually just be another acknowledgment of current gender expectation in Japan, which is where the film and book are based on after all. Gender roles are an important part of Japanese society: men are expected to work hard, and housewives are considered valuable for their child rearing abilities; this could be why we see the group of girls acting in ways similar to the housewife, while the male students work to either outright win the game or fight the authority by breaking the collars. Traits associated with individualism such as assertiveness and self-reliance is not seen in high regard, which is why we are shown Mitsuko in a negative, villainous way. So for a film that nearly entirely describes our current living situation, it could be said that the gender roles and stereotypes too are another way of acknowledging existing gender positions and expectations in Japan.

While the strong, independent female characters are shown in negative lights.

This is certainly a terrifying film; we are presented with a nightmarish portrayal of a hyper-violent, dystopian, totalitarian world we would be afraid to be a part of, yet we are also delivered a unique depiction of the word we are already a part of and that in itself is the most nightmarish aspect of Battle Royale. The film is an acknowledgment of not only the world we live in right now but also of the human condition and the gender roles that are currently prevalent in a society that is supposed to be based on equality; however, it is anything but. We need to look to such films and recognise that although they are fictional, and depictions of a harsh dystopia, they are also reflections of our present issues in society. They are showing us how bleak and grim our own realities are without the slaughter games and authoritarian powers that make the Battle Royale world so frightening.

Congratulations for being chosen to take part in this horror game called life!

Death and Dating: Love, Hope, and Millenials in ‘Warm Bodies’

This guest post by Emily Katseanes appears as part of our theme week on Dystopias.

George Romero’s 1978 zombie flick Dawn of the Dead opens in a newsroom. As the world descends into chaos, darkness and violence, two talking heads are deadlocked into an intellectual debating about the causes of what’s killing so many people and then bringing them back. The theme of humanity’s utter banality and pettiness is backed up as we meet our main character, Francine, who is trying to get her boss to stop broadcasting inaccurate shelter station locations at the bottom of their screen. Even the 2004 remake of this movie repeats this cynicism. Zack Snyder’s film of the same name includes a particularly gruesome scene in which a human husband restrains his pregnant, zombie wife, keeping her alive to birth an undead child, which of course, causes the outbreak to take down the rest of the remaining humans.

The message in both cases is overwhelmingly clear: the post-apocalyptic zombie landscape is one in which the violence of the undead’s feasting is small potatoes compared to man’s inhumanity to fellow man. It’s a familiar theme in both dystopian and zombie genres.

And that’s what makes Warm Bodies such an interesting dystopian flick: The film deftly defies expectations by presenting a world gone to hell that’s still full of humanity and, dare I say it, romance. The 2013 film centers around a charmingly vulnerable and mostly decay-free Nicholas Hoult as R, a zombie with a heart of gold and a reluctance to resort to the monstrous behavior normally associated with the undead. Partway through the film, he encounters Julie (Teresa Palmer), a tough, tender, and fully alive human girl. The two form a friendship and, later, romantic relationship. The star-crossed lovers’ relationship sets off a chain reaction that ends up rehabilitating most of the undead and uniting them with the living against the malicious, more-decayed Boneys.

The film first defies the genre by blending the zombie gross-out factor with a teenage romance, as if George Romero and John Hughes collaborated on a script. But beyond that, Warm Bodies stoutly rejects the pessimism that haunts the hellscapes that are Romero’s zombie America and Hughes’ Shermer, Illinois high schools. Instead, the film fully embraces all the messiness of the Millennial and manages to make an argument for hope in that most maligned generation.

Hoult’s character R is the narrator and driver of the plot. He’s a deadpanned young dude, given to quips such as this introduction to his best friend Marcus, played humorously by Rob Coddry: “This is my best friend. By best friend, I mean we occasionally grunt and stare awkwardly at each other.”

R’s blend of irony and sincerity—he really does count Marcus as a friend even as he pokes fun at the concept—registers well with the Millennial attitude. Hoult, who’s even Millennial enough to be the subject of a Buzzfeed listicle, is outfitted as well as any Brooklynite or San Franciscan can be who’s cool without trying to be too cool. He wears a red hoodie with skinny jeans and lives in an airplane bedecked with a record player and other irony-heavy objets d’art, such as a bobbleheaded Chihuahua and an old-fashioned viewfinder.

R, as befits the stereotype of the Millennial hipster, is sensitive almost to a punch line. He laments the loss of the pre-zombie world not for its safety or conveniences, but for a population that “could express themselves, and communicate their feelings and just enjoy each other’s company.” (In that most-Millennial blend of irony and sincerity again, the movie plays off a visual gag, showing a world of everyone sucked into smartphones, even as R’s voiceover remains serious.)

Julie, on the other hand, reads as a woman of the new Millennium, albeit differently. Although she’s not the bespoke-wearing, Zooey Deschanel, quirky girl who handcrafts and bakes, she’s a woman in the vein of Scandal’s Olivia Pope or The Mindy Project’s Mindy Lahiri. She’s traditionally feminine and yet stoic, independent and able to hold her own against any men (including her dad, played by John Malkovich). Whereas R is the perpetually awkward, sensitive boy, Julie is cool, competent and clad in plaid.

He may be undead and falling in love with someone alive, but like teens the world over, R still can’t pick up his clothes.

Beyond aesthetics, R and his fellow fresher zombies, called “u,” increasingly follow Millennial markers. They’re more listless than ravenous, underwhelmed rather than driven by rage and seem, more than anything, bored by the routines of middle-class life. R and Marcus meet to hang out at an airport bar and other zombies are seen going through the motions of their pre-death jobs. But, again echoing Millennials and the fraught economy they came of age in, it’s a middle-class lifestyle that’s no longer accessible to them. In an economic recession that renders a 9-to-5 with a travel expense account almost as mythical as a zombie, the lifestyle that Marcus portrays of the traveling businessman is as far away for Julie and R as it is for most 18- to 24-year-olds.

R and Julie also tap into the somewhat aimless creativity of the hipster/Yuccie generation. They’re creative, but it’s geared toward no particular endeavor. Julie and R aren’t poets, painters, or revolutionaries. Their creativity expresses itself as curators: of clever one-liners, tastefully decorated rooms, and arty Polaroids of each other. They’re lifestyle bloggers for the post-apocalyptic youth.

All of this makes the dystopia of Warm Bodies at once threatening and not threatening at all. While the zombie threat is a plot catalyst, the actual undead shamblers often take a backseat to the interactions between the two leads. And that’s where Warm Bodies’ genre subversion really takes off. Like all dystopian flicks, it’s a commentary on our current world. The difference is that while most films in this genre present characters who are oblivious or somehow unaware of the lurking catastrophe humanity’s bringing upon itself, Warm Bodies presents characters who are well aware the world’s already gone to hell. They’re just not going to buy into all that negativity, man.

“I guess I’ll improve the world or…whatever.”

And that’s not just a twist on the zombie dystopia. It’s a twist on how R and Julie’s generation is painted throughout media.

In addition to being the main characters, R and Julie are the happiest. In a world that’s fraught with danger and starvation, most of the other humans and zombies on screen seem to experience only fear and grim determination. In one of their early scenes together, R and Julie drive a red convertible. It’s a familiar scene of carefree enjoyment, whooping and hollering as they speed around.

But even beyond that, Julie and R are successful. They’re the ones who enact change in the world, creating a “cure” for zombie-ism by getting the undead creatures to feel love again. And they do it by proving the Millennials’ critics simultaneously right and wrong. R, Julie and their allies end up shifting the world by doing…not much of anything. It’s Julie and R’s simple affection for each other, born of those afternoons taking Polaroids and dancing to records, that gets the zombies feeling, dreaming and living again.

R and Julie have opted out of the capitalist conveyor belt that turns humans into braindead zombies and or war-mongering huddled masses. While it could also be read as a fundamental laziness to even stand up for themselves, the two succeed by not fighting. It is the peaceful revolution hippies of the 1960s might have wanted or it’s the ultimate move by a generation of wimps.

But whatever it is, it works. It changes the world, for the better. And that’s a narrative that’s not only missing from most dystopias, but from many depictions of the current generation. Of course, like a lot of narratives about Millennials, this remains problematic. The world of Warm Bodies is overwhelmingly white and the characters read as upper-middle class. In a film arguing for optimism for the youth, it’s both telling and disappointing that the youth included are white and affluent. There’s still a long way to go to get our representations to actually reflect the demographic of the world they exist in. It’s also easy to blow off the movie as teenage fluff and in a way, it is. It’s a cutesy romance that uses Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet as a skeletal structure and adds a killer soundtrack and a budding romance to flesh it out. But like R, who (mild spoiler alert), becomes human by the end of the film, it’s a vision of humanity that grows less not more fetid as it goes on.

A native Nevadan, Emily Katseanes has degrees from the University of Nevada and New Mexico State University. She has done everything from cleaning houses to filing fatality information at a gold mine to reporting on city council meetings in rural Idaho. Currently, though, she works her favorite job of all: teaching English at Louisiana State University.

‘Advantageous’: Feminist Science Fiction at Its Best

Though this happens in a future in which cosmetic surgery has become much more than a matter of lift and tuck, Koh’s struggle with whether and how to change her body for the sake of her daughter and her career, combined with the behind-the-scenes machinations of the corporation, casts a complicated light on the present struggles of women trying to succeed in both career and motherhood while facing the social pressure to stay young and be perfect.

This guest post by Holly Derr previously appeared at the Ms. blog and appears here as part of our theme week on Dystopias. Cross-posted with permission.

A sighting of that rare bird called feminist science fiction is truly a thing to celebrate. It does exist, sometimes by accident (see Alien), and sometimes on purpose (see almost anything by Octavia Butler). With Advantageous, a film written by Jacqueline Kim and Jennifer Phang, directed by Phang and starring Kim, the feminism is entirely purposeful.

Influenced during her studies at Pomona College by the work of such experimental filmmakers as Cheryl Dunye and Alexandra Juhasz, Phang has always tried to represent a diverse world in her films and to tell stories about identity, specifically Asian and Asian American identities. Speaking on the phone from her San Francisco office, she told the Ms. blog that when the Independent Film and Television Service approached her seeking proposals for science fiction shorts, she jumped at the chance to make an Asian American woman the center of the film. When actor Ken Jeong (The Hangover, Community) saw the short, he was so moved that he offered to help turn it into a feature, and that feature went on to win the Dramatic Special Jury Award for Collaborative Vision at Sundance.

The central character in Advantageous, Gwen Koh (Kim), is the spokesperson and head of The Center for Advanced Health and Living, a cosmetic surgery company that has developed a way for the aged and infirm to move their consciousness into a younger, healthier body. When the center decides that Koh is too old to continue as their spokesperson—just as her daughter is entering an elite and very expensive private school—she decides to undergo the body-changing procedure herself.

In reality, she has been manipulated into making this decision by the real head of the center, played by a (somewhat ironically) beautifully aging Jennifer Ehle. Though this happens in a future in which cosmetic surgery has become much more than a matter of lift and tuck, Koh’s struggle with whether and how to change her body for the sake of her daughter and her career, combined with the behind-the-scenes machinations of the corporation, casts a complicated light on the present struggles of women trying to succeed in both career and motherhood while facing the social pressure to stay young and be perfect.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jnBT0izYi7A”]

Not coincidentally, Koh, in collaboration with the company, chooses not only a young body into which to transition, but also a more ethnically ambiguous one (Freya Adams). Phang said that she cast Adams “not just because she’s a great actor, but also because she was able to play someone with a universal look. So the audience has to explore what is it about her that makes them want her to be the look of their company.”

Koh isn’t eager to take the extreme step of cosmetic surgery, so before undergoing the transition she attempts to find work through an agency she has worked with in the past. She discovers, however, that the voice on the other end of the phone is not only not a genuine supporter of her work, but isn’t even human, leading to one of the most profound conversations in the film:

Gwen: Drake, are you human being?

Drake: That’s a funny question. How do you define a human being?

Gwen: Do you have blood running through your veins? Do you get thirsty?

Drake: That is a definition of a human being?

Gwen: I didn’t know.

Drake: That sounds more like a human being. Not to know.

To say that Advantageous is a meditation on the meaning of life sounds cliché, but I can find no more fitting phrase. Both the mother and daughter at the center of the film spend the film’s duration in the pursuit of fulfillment, improvement, and a seemingly ever-elusive kind of achievement, and the tempo of the film ensures that both the characters and audience have plenty of time to think about what fulfillment really means.

Phang considers herself an idealist, and it is true that in this film, to a certain extent, daughter and mother both secure the kind of success for themselves that this near-future world believes to be paramount. But, as with the kind of feminist art that intends to make its audience think, most of the questions about the actual meaning of human existence are left unanswered. The 12-year-old daughter, Jules (Samantha Kim), states twice—once to her original mother and once to her mother-in-a-new-body—“I don’t know why I’m alive.” Though her mother offers a few answers, and different ones each time, the meditative quality of the daughter’s question and her mother’s answers makes it hard to believe that either finds much comfort in them.

In fact, even the background moments of buildings being blown up by terrorists are greeted not with terror but with an attitude of resignation that such things cannot be helped, and the process of changing bodies is more like the passage of time during sleep than the usual explosive, special-effects ridden climaxes of most science fiction movies. The most gripping moments of the film are found in the reactions of Gwen’s family to the consequences of her choice, beautifully revealing that even in a world where technology has become advanced enough to change the nature of life, being human is still a matter of feeling intimacy, love, and loss, of wanting to understand something that is inevitably just out of our reach and, ultimately, of accepting that no matter how successful or rich you are and no matter how technologically advanced our culture is, being human is mostly a matter of not knowing.

Phang is already hard at work on her next two films: One is a science fiction romance adapted from a play by Dominic Mah called Look for Water. The other is a film about climate change based on the work of real-life scientist Inez Fung, which she hopes will inspire audiences to reengage with climate change issues before it’s too late. She was recently awarded a $40,000 Kenneth Rainin Foundation grant from the San Francisco Film Society to support herself while developing these projects, something Phang told the Ms. blog she wouldn’t be able to live without:

I am fortunate to live in a time when organizations understand that in order to have sustainable media careers, women need support of some sort. The SFFS has a visionary program called Filmmaker360 that aims to change the representation of women in genre films by supporting women creators, which is a big deal for me and a big deal for women.

Advantageous is currently streaming on Netflix.

This review is dedicated to Michele Kort, who taught me how to be journalist and how to live in the human state of not knowing.

Holly L. Derr is a feminist media critic who writes about theater, film, television, video games and comics. Follow her @hld6oddblend and on her tumblr, Feminist Fandom.

Killing Time: The Luxury of Denial in ‘Dawn of the Dead’

This guest post by Jennifer Krukowski appears as part of our theme week on Dystopias.

George A. Romero’s 1978 zombie classic, Dawn of the Dead, poses many of the same questions as your average zombie flick: what is the difference between living and surviving, and what makes us human? Where Dawn of the Dead stands apart from the rest is its exploration of the childlike bliss of denial in a time of crisis. We don’t know what the world looks like in this particular zombie epidemic because the heroes isolate themselves from it after seeing a mere glimpse of the beginning of the end. The characters spend more time literally watching paint dry than fighting zombies, and yet it is still an entertaining, scary, and thought-provoking experience for the viewer. The end of the world means not having to plan for the future. There’s a banal comfort in that. It is pleasurable to imagine certain responsibilities crumbling away in the wake of a disaster.

Of the four main characters in this film — Roger (Scott H. Reiniger) and Peter (Ken Foree) who are police officers, and Francine (Gaylen Ross) and Stephen (David Emge) who work for a local news station — Francine is the only one who does not indulge in the luxury of denial. She is willing face the scary and uncertain future of the outside world, whereas Peter, Stephen, and Roger prefer to distract themselves from the possibility that there may not be one. Being that Francine is nearly the only survivor, Romero seems to express through this film that, against all odds, hope for a better life — or at the very least, a “real” life — is far more brave than it is naive.

Stephen, Roger, Peter, and Francine flee the city in a stolen helicopter — the most detached mode of transportation available. When they land on the roof of an abandoned shopping mall, the initial plan is to rest briefly, get a few supplies, and move on. As the men sleep, eat, and smoke, Francine paces anxiously, ready to keep moving. Initially, Peter and Roger venture into the mall only to collect a few essential supplies. On their way down, they switch on the power for everything in the mall because “we might need it,” although things like rotating window displays and decorative water fountains are functionally useless beyond creating the illusion of normalcy. As soon as they realize that they have access to a fully stocked department store, the desire for necessity is lost in the wake of a delirious shopping spree. Even Francine’s boyfriend, Stephen, agrees that Peter and Roger are acting like “maniacs,” and yet he grabs a gun that he doesn’t know how to shoot and rushes off to join the fun.

While the men are shopping, Francine is left alone to fend off a zombie with no means of self-defence. As she attempts to escape onto the roof, the others return to save her from the zombie and bring her back inside. She is dismayed to realize that they intend to stay there indefinitely. While the men enthusiastically describe the mall as a “kingdom” and a “goldmine,” Francine describes it as a “prison.” And though it may be smarter to leave, it is certainly more convenient to stay. Squatting in a shopping mall seems like a viable option to everyone but Francine who, feeling trapped and vulnerable, knows that it is too delicate a bubble to settle into. She makes frequent attempts, often subtle and sarcastic, to remind the others that they are simply indulging in a fantasy, most notably when she refuses to accept a wedding ring from Stephen, telling him that “it wouldn’t be real.” If he wants to marry her, he must part with his fantasy life first. He never does.

The dichotomy of real/artificial is exhibited in many ways as the characters go through the motions of daily life, where everything is an imitation of something familiar and resources seem unlimited. Pre-recorded announcements to shoppers are an unsettling reminder of how alone they are. Roger gorges himself on candy and plays an arcade game wherein his character dies, but comes back to life to play another round with no consequence. For a moment, Peter may be contemplating a return to the outside world when he takes money from the bank, but when he and Stephen strike a pose for the security cameras with fists full of cash, he knows that his actions lack consequence, and thus the money, too, lacks value. He will never spend it.

Stephen and Peter pose for security cameras

Mannequins, a vaguely threatening presence, are featured almost as prominently as zombies and contribute similarly to the theme. Roger is startled briefly by a mannequin, and the mannequins are also used for target practice. When Francine attempts to comfort herself by indulging in a makeover, she models her hair and makeup after a gaudy mannequin head. It is one of the film’s more disturbing images, reflecting her slow mental break from reality, which she is ultimately able to overcome.

Francine's makeover — Francine’s makeover

Time seems to stand still for a while in the shopping mall, perfectly preserved and untouched by an outside world that grows increasingly mysterious as radio and television broadcasts become more sporadic. One of the only signifiers of time passing is Francine’s pregnancy. As she nears her due date, her body is as a visual reminder of the inevitability of change, which may subconsciously threaten the others who are less willing to consider the future when, for the moment, everything they need is right at their fingertips. While it would be possible to give birth inside the mall, Francine’s pregnancy forces her more than anyone else to physically experience the passage of time and consider her future, no matter how uncertain it may be. It is very possible that the mall is the safest place for them to be at the time, and while we can only speculate as to why exactly it is so important to Francine that they get away, what really seems to make her nervous is not having an exit strategy. She is the first to demand helicopter lessons from Stephen in case anything happens to him. As Stephen is her lover and presumably the father of her unborn child, it is surely more difficult for her to imagine the possibility of his death than it is for Peter or Roger, but she has the strength to consider the dangerous reality of their situation and prepare for the worst case scenario.

It is not only her future responsibilities as a mother that gives Francine strength. This is a part of her personality. She is often drinking and smoking, so she is not portrayed as a perfect mother-to-be. Not everything she does is for the benefit of her child’s future. While at her job in the television studio, we see that she is highly focused and assertive. When a cameraman walks off the job during a live broadcast, Francine quickly jumps behind the camera and takes over. This example of taking the wheel is mirrored later when she has completed her flying lesson with Stephen, sincerely happy for the first time in the film. It is in her nature to take charge, which is ultimately what saves her life.

Francine may not have a perfect survival strategy. It could be that she is the one who is truly in denial. But in the end, Francine wants to leave the mall, and she does. Roger and Stephen want to stay, and they die inside. When their bubble becomes overrun by looters and zombies, Peter decides that he would rather kill himself than face the uncertain outside world, but at the last moment he changes his mind and joins Francine in the helicopter. They don’t have much fuel and they might not survive, but waiting to die is no way to live, no matter how you pass the time. Although the future probably isn’t optimistic for Francine and Peter, their willingness to face reality is what keeps them alive. At least until they take off.

Jennifer Krukowski is your average eco-feminist horror enthusiast. A graduate of York University’s Theatre Studies program, Jennifer currently works as an actor and odd-jober in Toronto while pursuing an interest in writing for film and television.

Twitter and Instagram: @jenkrukowski

Failed Revolutions in Imaginary Cities

How do you solve a problem like dystopian science fiction? It’s been around for about as long as the film industry and yet, politics and society still won’t stop producing warning signs for the decay of humanity, providing directors, writers, and “artists” with almost inexhaustible opportunities for critiquing the current state of the world community, or showing what the present state of things might turn into if not handled consciously and carefully.

This guest post by Olga Tchepikova appears as part of our theme week on Dystopias.

Many dystopian stories are set in urban environments: early films like Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927) address the issues of class structures and technological progress in the urban sphere and novels like John Dos Passos’ Manhattan Transfer (1925) put emphasis on the city as a space inhabited by masses, where anonymity and lack of compassion or interest in community prevails over civic solidarity and consideration. In urban spaces, it is really not that hard at all to be “alone in a crowd” both literally and figuratively. The city as a space for the display of pessimistic future narratives works well because that’s where all types of processes are accelerated, and there is a plethora of productive and destructive forces turning urban existence into an organically evolving chaos—a disease to the city’s body that needs to be cured continuously, by any and all means necessary—and the most subtly pervasive one is surveillance.

There have been a few particularly disastrous examples of state surveillance. Some are a bit dated (the East German Stasi and its many filmic representations) while others are fairly recent. So is it, in fact, a dystopian future we are talking about when it comes to spying on citizens? Not really. We have kind of embraced it in “western” urban culture and now are encouraged to accept its humoristic potential (I’m talking about the “Smile, you’re on CCTV” – smileyface stickers everywhere). At the same time, it comes at us in disguise, as a communicative necessity for the progressive human that wants to be harder, better, faster, stronger. Yet, here we are, on camera in public spaces and feeding the world wide web (and feasting on it, too).

If you can’t beat them, join them, right?

… said no film hero/ine ever. If anything, do it for the purpose of infiltrating authority, like Queen propose. If you can’t (and you shouldn’t “can”) join them, beat them. That’s what hero/ine/s do, and by watching them we are reminded that we too often don’t, although we should. They connect the dots and look back on the ones voyeuristically observing them. They resist and are sometimes punished for it—just like in the real world. Take for example Brazil (1985), straight out of Margaret Thatcher’s Britain, where protagonist Sam Lowry tries to escape the imperative of bureaucratic regulation of his environment and ultimately is lobotomized for his efforts. Here, punishment of disobedience is an almost accepted, public ritual, while disobedience itself is both overt and covert—there are terrorists in the city, but also underground freedom fighters (Tuttle).

Slightly different, but similar enough to include here is Dark City (1998), with a seemingly more happy ending, showing how John Murdoch battles an alien species, the Strangers, who are in complete control of the temporal flow of the artificially created environment, constantly change the geography and impose identities on individuals without their knowledge, all for the “good” cause of filtering out the humanity in the human. Here, no one is who they “really” are and no one (except the hero Murdoch, the traitor Dr. Schreber and the crazy person Walenski) cares because they don’t know (a friendly nod to Last Thursdayism).

Scary, right?

In Brazil, the opening sequence is most illustrative of the scattered condition of society or the discrepancy between ideal and reality: floating above the clouds, we find ourselves “somewhere in the 20^th century”—a noplace (not in to utopia-etymology sense) and everyplace of the past 100 years. This type of insistence on universality is a prime example for cinematically mediated ideology as it kills any slightest bit of hope for change no matter whether the circumstances are positive or negative. Besides, speaking of ideology, Triumph of the Will opens with a very similar cloud sequence. Coincidence? Do I need to answer that? But actually, it’s just Lowry’s dream, the one where he’s a hero and saves the girl, which means procreation, which means return to nature, which means return to the Garden, which means happiness. It’s a good thing. But it’s not real. The idyllic heavens change into a shop window full of TVs showing an advertisement—because this is the reality of the 20^th century: it is simulated on screens now—and a few seconds later…

In your face, media propaganda, capitalism and consumer culture!

Before we meet Lowry roughly 10 minutes into the story, we see the Ministry of Information violently arresting the wrong guy (Buttle the generic citizen instead of Tuttle the infiltrator), and the only difference between the aftermaths of the exploding shop window and the destruction accompanying the Ministry actions is that the latter procedure has a piece of paper authorizing it. Because processed information is power, and the lack thereof makes you an easy target, or victim. Or, actually, maybe just a normal human being living your life, as is the case in Dark City.

Everything quiet on the neo-noir scifi front — Everything quiet on the neo-noir sci-fi front

In a similar way as Brazil, Dark City is set in a temporally patchworked environment. The mise-en-scène completely lacks coherence in its references to historical space and time—there are too many of them at once. As Mr. Hand explains, “We fashioned this city on stolen memories: different eras, different pasts, all rolled into one.” They have the whole world in their hands, if you know what I mean. The Strangers’ invisible puppeteering activities result in our perception of the narrative as dystopian only via, again, the power of knowledge. In Murdoch’s camp, however, knowledge means to reflect, to detect inconsistencies, and to suspect. Suspicion causes paranoia and paranoia ultimately leads to “real” power, at least in his case. Contrary to Brazil, where the productivity of suspicion is actively promoted by the same authority that benefits from it, and therefore, prevents any actual change.

Dark City ends with Murdoch’s victory over the Strangers and his rebuilding of the city on his own, seemingly “freer” terms. Does he end autocracy? Yes. Does he bring about liberation? If this is about humanity and idiosyncrasy and “everyone needs to be who they really are”… the answer is no, not really. Murdoch dislikes processes no one else appeared to suffer from and makes the world better for only himself. Murdoch wanted Shell Beach; he got Shell Beach. In the process, he may have played around with the parameters of the formula and put it to sleep, but he did not bother sharing knowledge (and thus, power). They’ll just have to live a lie forever. But it’s only a lie if you know there is truth, right?

Guess it didn’t happen then.

While we’re at it, let’s talk about truth some more. Truth is like gender—there is an essentialist take on it, relying on facts, things that actually exist in the world (things that you can touch… like genitals for example), and then there is ideology: things invented but holding the same authority as the essentialist prove (similar to the assumption that these genitals you can touch magically make you desire certain things and hate others). With gender, it’s complicated. With truth it’s the same, unless someone forces it to be simple. For example, in Brazil, ink holds more “truth” and authority than interpersonal communication. Information printed on paper is more than just power as an ideological concept—it is the physical manifestation of power, like your genitals.

Where there’s truth, the “human” aspect of interaction becomes irrelevant—no other physical authority as such is needed to maintain law and order. Indeed, surveillance “somewhere in the 20^th century” is not an overt action taken out by identifiable people (they just reinforce the authority of the paper print) but, rather, emerges in forms of indoctrinations mingling in the environment, promoting a tautological and unquestioned acceptance of bureaucracy. All over the city, there are posters reminding the citizens to “Be safe – be suspicious,” or “Don’t suspect a friend, report him” and finally, that…

One might say that the organization of the depicted society relies on a form of decentralized panopticism. Panopticism is the unverifiable threat of surveillance turned into self-surveillance—it used to be a prison thing but now we have, you know, cameras in our laptop screens and are you sure it’s not broadcasting just because the light is not on? Is it paranoid to think it might? In Brazil, the decentralization of surveillance means that the possibly watching body is not only the state authority but also, people just like you. Somewhere in the 21^st century, the decentralization of surveillance means that the possibly watching body is not even a body anymore. So, this demands an even more rigid need for self-discipline—in order for everyone to be a suspect, everyone needs to suspect.

Now it appears that these two films could not be farther apart in the presentation of their citizens—in Brazil, everyone suspects everything; in Dark City no one suspects anything. However, both are built on the same conditions: individualism, transparency of authoritative activities, and the privacy of citizens are sacrificed for a harmonious communal existence where the illusion of egalitarianism depends on the withdrawal of authority from direct visibility. By explicitly encouraging paranoia but not presenting the population with these messages in a spectacular manner, the Ministry of Information creates a paradoxical community that is bound by mutual distrust, and therefore, establishes a structure where the public does not aim to overthrow authority because everyone is too busy suspecting each other. With a similar effect, the Strangers in Dark City look down on their lab-rat citizens without permanently appearing in the continuity of their world. Both cases are a witch hunt: if hero/ine/s drown, they’re innocent; if they survive, they’re guilty and die anyway.

Unless they evolve.

Lab rats outsmarting their “owners” is always a moment of pleasure, but is their personal victory over authority solely driven by their position as heroic victims, or did they have to become more evil than the evil in order to prevail over evil? This is something I was toying with during Ex Machina, and also the aspect that made Dark City a lot darker than it might seem in the first place. Sometimes we forget that every hero/ine drags along a body count, too. But at the same time, some change in the dystopian routine of the film is better than no change, or the wrong side’s victory.

That’s why Brazil is so soul-crushing. Lowry is irreversibly kicked out of reality into a non-existent, eternal, utopian dream—he got the Garden, the girl, the happiness. But he didn’t win. There are other films that thrive on this idea, and most of them also don’t have a happy end.

Attempts at improving the “situation” through distraction are very close to our reality that significantly lacks a routine of epic, heroic gestures. Could it be, though, that it’s mainly because there are too many causes worth fighting for and it hurts to prioritize? You wanna make a donation for homeless puppies, children, or grown men? Or would you rather watch Hobo with a Shotgun?

What we cease to see is how that off-screen world of ours sugar-coats outrage with sensationalism and throws it back at us in the form of film, so we can at least be entertained by the sad realities we live in while reality itself becomes secondary, invisible, almost unreal. Do we simply not start revolutions because most of the successful ones are fictional, or do we not feel entitled to actually complain and be outraged because this reality is not that bad? We are not ignorant but aware—after all, we share on Facebook and hashtag on Twitter. Only those spaces are the Garden, not the reality. But since we are not lobotomized yet, we could still evolve.

Olga Tchepikova has lived, studied, and worked in various places in Europe and just left the US after finishing her MA there. Her mind in free time, as well as in research, is mainly occupied with films about and critical theory on various sub-cultural spheres, sex, porn, horror, violence, death and their ramifications.

‘Terminator Genisys’: Not My Sarah Connor

Sarah Connor teams up with the Terminator

This guest post by Liz LaBrocca appears as part of our theme week on Dystopias.

Terminator Genisys, the fifth installment in the Terminator franchise, reminds you how much you loved Terminator and Terminator 2: Judgement Day while simultaneously destroying everything that made the first two movies exciting, scary, and romantic. In particular, Sarah Connor, damsel in distress turned warrior, has been reduced to a quippy, bland plot device instead of the powerful ready-made warrior she could have been.

The greatness of Sarah Connor’s character (as played by Linda Hamilton) between T1 and T2 was her transition from a frightened young girl to a self-made soldier. Within the first movie alone, we see her transformation from a terrified waitress in need of Kyle Reese’s (Michael Biehn) protection to a woman who is learning that she’s more capable than she ever believed. As their brief love is budding, she bandages one of his wounds. He compliments her field dressing and she, knowing now what her future holds, sadly replies, “Thanks, it’s my first.” By the end of the movie she is trying her best to save his life, commanding him (“Move, Soldier!”) to get up and keep fighting with her. In the end, he sacrifices himself in his best effort to save her and she is left to carry his child, future resistance leader John Connor, and the heavy burden of preparing both of them for the coming nuclear apocalypse.

Linda Hamilton as Sarah Connor in The Terminator calls the police to come to her rescue. — Linda Hamilton as Sarah Connor in *The Terminator* calls the police to come to her rescue

In T2, we jump ten years into the future where John Connor is a wayward teenager, living in a foster home while Sarah is institutionalized for paranoid delusions. She has spent the past decade living with various men in order to learn as much as she can about arming and defending herself. We’re introduced to her in the institution as she does chin-ups on her overturned bed frame to keep herself physically primed for the coming war. While John and the reprogrammed Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger) are coming to rescue Sarah from the T-1000 in the psych ward, she has already mostly broken out on her own. Hamilton’s T2 Sarah Connor was muscular, sweaty, and terse. She looked like someone who had spent a decade physically and emotionally preparing for a nuclear war. At the same time, it was clear that she deeply cared about her son and was struggling with how to be a mother in a world that only she knows is destined to be destroyed. She reflects that the Terminator, ironically, ends up being the best father figure John has known in the absence of Reese.

Linda Hamilton transformed for Terminator 2: Judgement Day’s warrior Sarah Connor — Linda Hamilton transformed for *Terminator 2: Judgement Day*’s warrior Sarah Connor

We were given so little of Sarah in the preview of Genisys, I was holding onto a little hope that she wouldn’t be totally stripped of her mettle as a result of losing her original character arc. In Terminator Genisys, Sarah (played by Emilia Clarke of Game of Thrones) has been raised by the Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger) since she was 9. He was sent back in time to protect her from a T-1000 that had been sent to kill her and her family. There are plenty of reviews that discuss the convoluted time problems and horrifyingly dull plot in Genisys, so I’ll spare you.

Sarah meets Reese (Jai Courtney) knowing that she will need to have sex with this man, regardless of how she feels, to save the human race. It’s an awkward problem that’s dealt with in Schwarzenegger one-liners about mating and a weak attempt at a narrative theme of free will versus destiny. Her dialogue is full of jokes and one-liners instead of the brusque, efficient speech patterns you’d associate with a woman who spent her formative years with a Terminator who has still, several decades later, not mastered the art of smiling despite his detailed files on human anatomy. What was once a heated, passionate romance in the midst of a life-altering conflict, is boiled down to a silly comedy subplot: how does Sarah tell Reese that he’s the father of his best friend and mentor? This problem is further compounded by the painful lack of chemistry between Clarke and Courtney. The one upside to this forced romance subplot is that Sarah’s need to be impregnated is nullified by the vilification of John Connor. The film ends with her ability to choose to be with Reese instead of needing to be with Reese. But perhaps a more interesting, and more feminist, ending would be her choosing to not be with Reese at all.

Emilia Clarke wearing the iconic leather jacket as Sarah Connor in Terminator Genisys — Emilia Clarke wearing the iconic leather jacket as Sarah Connor in *Terminator Genisys*

The problem of Sarah’s character also lies within the casting of Emilia Clarke. While Courtney is a big, hulking man, who looks like he’s been slamming protein shakes in his post-apocalyptic future wasteland home (in T1 children hunt rats for food), Sarah looks as though she’s barely run a mile in preparation for the impending war she’s about to fight. Sure, they arm her with a bunch of guns and she looks really cool. She even looks a bit like Linda Hamilton. But she doesn’t look strong the way Linda Hamilton looked strong in T2. She doesn’t look like she has spent her youth and early adulthood physically training to be a fighter.

What it boils down to is that Courtney was cast in the traditional image of protector, even though the intention of the storyline was to subvert that role and have Sarah be the savior. It didn’t matter that he looks absolutely nothing like Michael Biehn because his perfectly chiseled abs looked great during naked time travel. He can even be hit by a car on the freeway with barely any consequences. In contrast, Biehn’s Reese was cut but lean; he was dirty and on edge. He looked like someone who came from a nuclear wasteland where meals were scarce and the threat of death was constant. He could be injured and killed. Had both actors been cast more appropriately in Genisys, she and Reese could have at least stood side by side as a team of equals ready to fight Cyberdyne via Genisys.

Jai Courtney (left) and Michael Biehn as Kyle Reese respectively

There was potential for this character to be extremely interesting. She could have been a darker, off-beat female heroine. She could have been the result of a human who spent her life training to be a warrior by an emotionless robot. But because the studio chose to play it safe and go for mass appeal and a PG-13 rating, we’re left with a watered-down version of the original character. Sarah Connor’s character was exactly what I was afraid she would end up being: a shallow plot device who is only there to make sure we know what’s happening in the new present and to fret over her impending romance with Reese. She is a shadow of an action hero, saying her lines but never embodying the role.

Liz LaBrocca is a freelance writer and editor living in Northampton, Massachusetts. She’s Co-Editor in Chief of The Soapbox, an online platform for amplifying the voices of female-identifying creators. You can follow her writing, cooking, and very important opinions on Twitter and Instagram.

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Check out what we’ve been reading this week–and let us know what you’ve been reading/writing in the comments!

Angry misogynist murders women at showing of film by feminist comedian; police worry “we may not find a motive.” and Did right-wing attacks on “Trainwreck” inspire John Russell Houser’s shooting rampage? by David Futrelle at We Hunted the Mammoth

Proof That Jane Austen and Amy Schumer Would Have Been Friends by Audrey Bilger at Ms. blog

Review: Does Trainwreck Live Up to Its Own Feminist Standards? by Carolyn Cox at The Mary Sue

10 Female Directors of Color You Should Know Now at BET

A Short Film Series Gives Female Athletes the Star Treatment They Deserve by Sarah Mirk at Bitch Media

5 Ways Marvel Movies Keep Screwing Up Female Superheroes by Kathy Benjamin at Cracked

Hollywood, It’s Time to Retire the ‘Loveable Misogynist’ Movie Hero by Lindsay Ellis at IFC

Jurassic Park: High Heels Edition gives everyone the shoes of a “strong female character” by Caroline Siede at A.V. Club

Can a “Feminist Hero” Save ‘True Detective’? by Heather Havrilesky at Dame Magazine

Which of These 3 Emmett Till Projects Will Be Made First? Will Smith & Jay-Z Have Gotten Behind One of Them by Tambay A. Obenson at Shadow and Act

Filmmaker Mag Names 25 New Faces of Independent Film; Pippa Bianco and 10 Other Women Featured by Laura Berger at Women and Hollywood

What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

Polly Gray: The Matriarch of ‘Peaky Blinders’

Though at times problematic, Polly’s story and interactions with other characters is one of a powerful and complex woman who supports and encourages respect for other women.

Written by Jackson Adler | Spoilers ahead.

[Trigger warning: rape and sexual assault; contains harsh language]

Despite (small) recent improvements, there is still a lack of well-written female characters on our screens. Especially anti-heroines. And female characters who are middle-aged. And characters who are working class. And of a religious minority. And are of ethnically marginalized groups. And in positions of power. And whose stories of physical and sexual oppression are more than plot devices to further the motivations of male leads.

Meet Polly Gray from the BBC series Peaky Blinders.

Polly (Helen McCrory) is working class, Romanichal (a British subgroup of Romany) and Irish, devout Catholic, and a middle-aged female in 1919 through 1920s Birmingham, England. She is a loving mother and aunt, as well as the treasurer for and semi-retired leader of the Peaky Blinders, who are “illegal bookmakers, racketeers, and sometimes gangsters,” and who are led by her family, the Shelbys. In order to survive, Polly had to become “hard as nails,” as her actress Helen McCrory describes her. Together with her nephew Thomas Shelby (played by Cillian Murphy), Polly fights to bring safety, respectability, and power to her family through both legal and illegal activity. As anti-heroine and anti-hero, Polly and Thomas head a family of “good people who do bad things for a good reason.”

Polly is female character who is complex and multi-faceted in ways that are still extremely rare but much needed in our culture; however, her story is often undermined by those whose responsibility it is to help tell it, especially with regard to her being Romanichal. Roma leading characters are still rare in media, and when they are depicted, they are often heavily stereotyped. Though Peaky Blinders and Hemlock Grove feature Roma families made up of complex and well-developed characters, it must be pointed out that Peaky Blinders is about criminals and Hemlock Grove is about fantasy and mysticism – two of the most prevalent and harmful stereotypes of Roma. It is emphasized in Peaky Blinders, though, that the Shelbys resort to criminality only because they see it as the only way to bring themselves out of poverty and into “respectability,” with their goal to eventually do only legal work. There are also many criminal or villainous characters in the show who are not Roma. However, it is odd and problematic that the two current TV series that feature Roma characters also feature them as stereotypically criminal and mystic, stereotypes which contribute to the “othering,” and therefore oppression, of Roma.

Polly Gray realistically faces extreme discrimination directed at her Romanichal heritage from characters within the show, and yet the creative team behind Peaky Blinders is often also disrespectful of that identity. She and the other Romanichal characters (of which there are many) are whitewashed via the casting of non-Roma and white actors. Helen McCrory is Scottish and Welsh, and Cillian Murphy is Irish. Though there are certainly white-passing Roma, they are a people of color who originated in Northeastern India and Northwestern Pakistan. Not only is this compelling female character of color whitewashed, but Polly and her family are called the ethnic slur “Gypsy” frequently both within the series and without. It is troubling that the cast and creative team, especially creator and writer Steven Knight, would refer to this highly oppressed people (whom they are supposedly working to represent and empower) as an ethnic slur.

This is all the more troubling and downright disturbing as the systematic oppressions that Polly faces, especially with regard to the intersection of her gender and ethnicity, are still wielded today. Polly’s children were kidnapped from her by law enforcement, like many other Roma children were and are from their parents. This contributed to the early death of her daughter, Anna, who is never depicted in the series. Once Polly’s son, Michael (played by Finn Cole), grows up, he leaves the family to whom he was forcibly relocated and finds her. She struggles to reclaim her role as his mother and, as a single mother, to provide the sort of life she wishes to give him. Due to the prosperity of the family business, much of it now legal, Polly and Michael live in a spacious house with a live-in maid and in a “respectable” neighborhood. However, no amount of wealth or respectability politics prevents law enforcement from targeting the Grays and the Shelbys due to their ethnicity. Though there are other contributing factors, it is still a racialized scene when law enforcement arrests Michael on a trumped up charge and takes him from Polly again. Michael, who is only 17, is then tortured by law enforcement until he confesses to the crime he didn’t commit. While Michael was arrested in the early 1920s, there is still a severe over-representation of Roma in UK prisons due to discrimination. One out of every 20 prisoners identify as “Gyspy, Romani or [Irish] Traveler,” and over-representation is even higher in youth prison facilities. This is despite, as of 2013, Roma numbering only about 200,000 in the UK, out of a total population of about 64 million.

A leader of law enforcement, Major (formerly Inspector) Campbell (played by Sam Neill), tells Polly that he won’t allow Michael to be released from jail unless Polly lets Campbell rape her and show that she is “small and weak” compared to him. For the sake of her son, whom she knows is being tortured, Polly stops fighting Campbell and plays along with what he wants. Campbell enforces the system’s and his own biases against the intersectional identities of Polly, as he says to her while raping her “You think you’re so respectable with your son and your house. But I know what you are, you Gypsy Fenion slut.” (Note: “Fenion” is a derogatory word for Catholics, and Irish Catholics in particular, although it has other uses.) Rape is a very real weapon used against women, especially women of color, including women who are Roma.

Upon my first viewing of the series, I thought that, unlike how rape is often used in TV and film, Polly is not raped to further the leading male character’s (Thomas’) plotline and character development. After a few more viewings, I realized that’s (sadly) not entirely true, even though this rape storyline is still much more focused on the female survivor than those of other shows. Polly comforts herself after the rape by going out for six whiskeys, going home and taking a bath, and most importantly by talking with her niece Ada (played by Sophie Rundle), with whom she has a very close relationship. Ada is also a fellow survivor of sexual assault. Like Polly, her husband has died and she is now a single mother to a young son for whom she wants to provide and to protect. After Michael is released from jail, Polly makes certain that she, not Thomas, is the one to confront Campbell and avenge herself and her son. She then goes home and shares a warm embrace with Ada. Seen this way, the story is focused on women, especially women of color, and how they support each other and their families while asserting their own autonomy against severe oppression.

Polly with Campbell’s blood on her dress, walking away from shooting him.

However, the rape storyline also gives attention to the leading male characters, and the story is made to be largely about Thomas. Campbell raped Polly largely in an attempt to shame and emasculate Thomas. Thomas responds by sleeping with a former love interest of Campbell’s, and succeeds in angering Campbell by doing so. Also, Thomas does confront Campbell, he just isn’t the one to pull the trigger. As problematic as this part of the rape storyline is, however, it is also important to note that Campbell’s and Thomas’ sexism (by treating women as objects and possessions that can be stolen) backfires on both of them. Though Campbell’s main goal in raping Polly was to attack Thomas, it is Polly who is the one to ultimately “finish” him, saying, “This time ‘small and weak’ has a gun” and reminding him, “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” Meanwhile, though one of the main reasons Thomas sleeps with the character Grace Burgess (played by Annabelle Wallis) is to use her to anger Campbell, after she and Thomas have sex, Grace reveals that she was, in part, just using Thomas in the hopes of becoming pregnant (as her husband is infertile), and (at least at first) Thomas is offended that she didn’t inform him of this plan. Both Campbell and Thomas are reminded that women are thinking and feeling human beings with their own motivations capable of self-assertion.

This is far from the only time that the male characters in Peaky Blinders are called out on their sexism, and it is usually Polly who does it. Polly not only fights sexism from her enemies, but also from the men she loves and trusts most. In the first episode of the series, when at a family meeting in regard to the business, Thomas condescendingly states that he has nothing more to say about the goings-on of the company that is “any of women’s business.” Polly then reminds him that she ran “the business” while he and two of his brothers were fighting in WWI, meaning that “this whole business was women’s business,” and demands that he inform her of what he is hiding. It should be noted that Polly only gave up direct leadership of the gang because she felt it was the birthright of her nephews. Though Thomas improves in how he sees and treats women, and even claims that he and the family’s “modern enterprise” believe in “equal rights for women,” Polly justifiably calls him out on his hypocrisy, pointing out that he neither “listens to” nor trusts women as much as men.

Of Polly’s adult nephews, Thomas still respects Polly the most and is closest to her despite his sexism. Thomas’ two oldest brothers Arthur (played by Paul Anderson) and John (played by Joe Cole) still respect Polly, but when they are being most respectful to her, they (especially Arthur, the oldest nephew) refer to her as the male-sounding name “Pol” (as in “Paul”) or “Aunt Pol.” This emphasizes that they see power and strength as inherently masculine, despite Polly constantly reminding them that she is a woman and that they should all respect her and other women better. Though John respects Polly more than Arthur does, and is on the whole kinder to women than even Thomas, he does not see women as equal. When Thomas encourages John’s wife Esmé (of the Romanichal Lee family and played by Aimee-Ffion Edwards) to speak at a family meeting, John initially protests, says that as “the head of” his family that he will “speak for” her. Though Thomas makes certain that Esmé speaks, he quickly dismisses what she has to say, for which Polly criticizes him. Polly even experiences sexism from her son, who victim-blames her to her face after Campbell rapes her, despite that he was only freed from being tortured in jail because of it. Thomas became more accepting and respectful toward women because of Polly’s influence, while Michael was kidnapped from his mother’s influence at the age of three. In this way, the systemic oppressions on the Shelby-Gray family not only directly hurt them, but indirectly hurt them by turning them on each other.

Michael walking away from Polly after victim-blaming her.

Though at times problematic, Polly’s story and interactions with other characters is one of a powerful and complex woman who supports and encourages respect for other women. While she herself is imperfect and not free from bias, and participates in the slutshaming of sex worker-turned-secretary Lizzie Stark (played by Natasha O’Keeffe), she overall supports women (especially fellow Romanichal women such as Esmé and Ada) in both the workplace, such as by demanding they have a say in how the business is run, and the home, such as by helping Ada with her new baby. The story does not mock her for her assertiveness and for her support of women’s equality, even though male characters often do. Though Polly is whitewashed, and is not the leading character (rarely being featured in the series’ posters and publicity photos, and is referred to often by an ethnic slur, Polly’s role in Peaky Blinders is still refreshing when compared to how other TV series depict women and their storylines. Hopefully in the coming third season of the show, Steven Knight will continue to and even improve in how he writes Polly and how she contributes to the overall narrative of the story. One can also only hope that Peaky Blinders will inspire other series to write multi-faceted women and Roma.

‘Sharknado 3’: TV’s Guilty Pleasure

Don’t judge me.

I am a fan of the ‘Sharknado’ franchise put out by the SyFy Channel.

Don’t judge me.

I am a fan of the Sharknado franchise put out by the SyFy Channel. In a nutshell, all three of the movie plots are pretty basic. Literally there are tornadoes erupting in major U.S. cities that are filled with man-eating sharks of all types and sizes. In the first installment it was Los Angeles. The second took place in New York. In Sharknado 3: Oh Hell No!, we start out in the White House and end up at Universal Studios in Orlando, Florida. Flying sharks appear suddenly, eat, kill, and maim people, and then dissipate to form tornadoes again in another part of town. I know, stupid.

A shark taking a break from causing mayhem by visiting the Lincoln Memorial.

The quick and dirty rundown is that Ian Ziering and Tara Reid return as Fin Shepard and April Wexler who are now expecting a new baby together. Fin is accepting the “Order of the Golden Chainsaw” from the President in the White House (Mark Cuban) for saving New York in the last film. While Fin is in D.C., April is in Florida at Universal Studios Orlando with their oldest daughter and Bo Derek (who plays April’s mother, May Wexler). Storms begin eight minutes into the film and it’s the usual farce of flying shark mayhem. Fin tries to get down to Florida to save his family, and he meets up with his former bar employee, Nova Clarke (Cassie Scerbo). Nova tools around in a reinforced RV fighting sharks like a Mad Max movie reject with her nerdy sidekick Lucas (Frankie Muniz). They (minus Lucas) make it to Florida and reunite with Fin’s family. Fin soon finds his way inside a space shuttle with his father Gilbert Shepard (David Hasselhoff) to save the planet from the sharknado infestation.

The only reasons to watch Sharknado 3 (or any of them really) are:

Cameo Appearances.

There are so many familiar and sometimes controversial faces in Sharnado 3, and part of the fun is chuckling at who actually signed up to appear in it. Most known actors in the SyFy Creature Feature programming are former (minor) stars from the ’80s and ’90s, and some are even names who used to be in blockbuster films a few years ago (Vivica Fox from Independence Day and Kill Bill appeared in Sharknado 2). Sharknado 3 boasts cameos from R&B singer Ne-Yo, Lou Ferrigno (the original Incredible Hulk), Harvey Levin (TMZ host), Jackie Collins (author/socialite), Frankie Muniz (the Malcolm in the Middle star who looked so old in this), and real-life political figures like Anthony Wiener (who now works for a crisis PR firm–oh, the irony), Ann Coulter (why did she not get eaten in this thing?), and Michele Bachmann (so random).

Landmarks Destroyed

The White House, the Washington Monument, the Capitol Rotunda, and of course, if you saw the other two films set in New York and Los Angeles, you saw the Statue of Liberty lose her head and the Santa Monica Pier’s Ferris Wheel destroy the boardwalk.

Ridiculous Shark Deaths, Lack of Realism, and Poor CGI

Sharknado 3 is not afraid to show how low-budget it is and how obvious the CGI is crafted. It’s part of the joke in many ways. The producers pour on the cheap-ass quality, and we love it. As our hero Fin gets caught inside his car as a new storm rages around him, he jumps out and has to grab ahold of his car door to keep himself from flying away. Mind you, everything else around him that is heavier than his car is being lifted into the sky, but his vehicle stays put on the ground, barely shaking from the high winds of flying sharks. But we don’t care. Sharks swallow people whole, they slap people to death with their fins, and they bite off all your limbs. Some even gulp you down in outer space. They have no chill. Bonus: George R.R. Martin has a Game of Thrones bloodfest comeuppance.

Nostalgia for Old School Creature Features

If you grew up loving Lloyd Kaufman’s Toxic Avenger series, Roger Corman’s American International Pictures, or the old Hammer Film Productions, then Sharknado 3 is for you. It’s for people who enjoyed Saturday afternoon Creature Features like Godzilla and Gamera that were often followed by Kung Fu Theater classics.

That’s it.

Sharknado 3 is the Krispy Kreme donut of movies. There is no nutritional value whatsoever for a cinephile, but damn it, as soon as that “Hot Now” sign goes on, you have to have it. It is so god-awful that it’s good. I made Patron flavored cupcakes to snack on as I indulged in the sublime foolishness. Sidenote: Sharknado films are for drinking parties. It’s always better with liquor.

The actors themselves know that this awful TV movie is a fluke to be such a success. Ian Ziering has stated that he took the job only because he needed to work and support his family. The actor Steve Guttenberg reportedly was offered the role of Fin Shepard but turned it down. He regretted it later after the first Sharknado film blew up. (But no worries, he can try to make up for his faux pas by being comical in the upcoming SyFy original movie, Lavalantula. Yes. LAVALANTULA.)

You thought I was playing. Lavalantula. — You thought I was playing. *Lavalantula*.

All the Sharknado TV movies owe their popularity and longevity with their mockbuster sequels to us, the fans. We made this cultural zietgiest happen. Social media and livetweets propelled this thing into the fandom stratosphere. The SyFy network have had other audacious TV movies like Frankenfish, Sharktopus, Piranhaconda (stop laughing), Dinoshark, Sharktopus vs. Pteracuda, and a few days ago, Sharktopus vs. Whalewolf (hand to God). But somehow, only Sharknado became a thing. I confess, I own a Sharknado T-shirt, and Sharknado leggings, and wear them proudly like I would my Wonder Woman, Batman, and Loki fan gear. There’s something life-affirming about cherishing pure D-level entertainment. The collective eye-winking warms my heart.

The Shepard family reunited for a final showdown in Florida.

The PR end of Sharknado 1, 2, and 3 was smart to engage the public. As the second movie was being made, there was a contest on Twitter to name the movie subtitle. The best title winner would win actual props from the movie along with having the prestige of naming a campfest. Sharknado 3 is already priming the pump for a new installment. As the premier ended Wednesday night, the SyFy channel posted two Twitter hashtags, #AprilLives and #AprilDies. (Sorry Tara Reid, I tweeted #AprilDies because #teamnova.) The fans will decide the fate of Reid’s character April, who gave birth to Fin’s baby inside of a shark falling to earth from outer space. No, for real. That happened. This type of interaction is gold for fans like me who wonder how the writers/producers will level up from sharks in space. What could they possibly have in store for us hardcore stans in Sharknado 4? The only thing I can add is to have the producers cast me in a walk-on role, where I run from sharks and maybe bash a few upside the noggin with coconuts somewhere in the Fiji Islands. I’m just saying.

Until Sharknado 4 appears, I’ll eagerly await giant spiders spewing lava from their butts. Bring it SyFy channel. I’m a ride or die fan waiting for my close-up.

Staff writer Lisa Bolekaja is the co-host of Hilliard Guess’ Screenwriters Rant Room. When not watching cheesy SyFy flicks, she can be found in the Twitter hashtags #SaturdaynightSciFi and #Fridaynighthorror. She divides her time between Italy and several cities in California. You can read her short SF/F story “Three Voices” at Uncanny Magazine.